Chapter 1: Aftermath of Passion
The rain came down in sheets, slapping against the windows like it was trying to get in. I should’ve known better than to answer the phone when it rang at 2 AM. But there was something in the way his voice cracked when he said my name—something raw, something broken—that made my stomach clench.
*"Jill."*
Just that. Just my name, like it was the only word he could remember.
I was already on my feet, pulling on my boots before he even finished the sentence. *"I need you."* Three words. Three words that sent a shiver down my spine, not because they were a confession, but because they were a plea.
And David Thewlis never begged.
I knew him better than that.
---
The hotel room was a blur of dim light and the faint scent of whiskey when I walked in. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing us in a space that felt too small for the weight of everything unsaid. David stood by the window, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his rumpled suit trousers. The rain outside streaked the glass, distorting the city lights into smudges of gold and white.
He didn’t turn around. Not at first.
I let my bag slide from my shoulder to the floor with a soft thud.
The sound made him flinch, just slightly, like a man who’d been holding his breath too long. I stepped closer, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of my footsteps. The room was warm, too warm, the air thick with the scent of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive, mixed with the faint tang of sweat and whiskey.
“You look like hell,” I said, because it was the truth, and because I knew he needed it.
David exhaled a laugh, but it was hollow. He finally turned, and the sight of him hit me like a punch to the gut. His brown hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it for hours.
His blue eyes—usually so sharp, so full of life—were bloodshot, the dark circles beneath them a stark contrast against his pale skin. He looked like a man who’d been wrestling with something bigger than himself and had just lost.
“Cheers for the compliment,” he said, his voice rough from disuse. He ran a hand over his face, dragging it down like he could scrub away the exhaustion. “Though I’d argue I look like hell’s better kept brother.”
I didn’t smile. Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out the half-empty bottle of bourbon I’d grabbed from my kitchen on the way over.
The amber liquid sloshed against the glass as I uncorked it, the scent sharp and immediate.
David’s gaze dropped to the bottle like it was a lifeline.
I tossed it to him.
He caught it one-handed, the motion effortless even now, his reflexes still sharp despite whatever storm was raging behind those eyes. He took a long pull, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The bourbon did nothing to soften the lines of tension in his face, but the faint color returned to his cheeks.
“You always did have impeccable timing,” he said, voice hoarse.
The bottle dangled from his fingers, forgotten for the moment. He looked at me like I was the only solid thing in a room that had started spinning.
I shrugged out of my coat and let it fall onto the back of a chair. The room was too warm, too intimate. The bed was unmade, the sheets twisted like someone had been fighting with them. Or someone had been fighting with themselves.
“You called,” I said simply. “I came.”
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. “That’s all it takes with you, isn’t it? No questions asked.”
I crossed my arms. “You know better than that. I’ve got questions.
I just don’t ask them yet.
David’s gaze lingered on me for a long moment, tracing the lines of my face like he was trying to memorize them. Then he turned away, walking to the window again, the bourbon bottle still clutched in his hand. He set it down on the windowsill with a quiet *thunk*, but he didn’t let go.
The rain had eased to a slow, steady drizzle, the kind that made everything feel muffled, like the world outside this room had been wrapped in cotton. The city lights blurred into streaks of color, the neon signs of bars and restaurants bleeding together.
“You remember that night in Prague?” he asked suddenly.
His voice was low, uneven. He still hadn’t looked at me. “The party at the Old Town Square. You wore that black slip dress—ripped it right at the neck when you danced on the table.”
I felt the memory rise in me like a slow tide, warm and unwanted.
“You played guitar,” I said, because that was the only safe answer.
“Yeah. And you sang *Johnny Cash* off-key in that accent of yours that wasn’t quite American and wasn’t quite English, just fucking *you*.” A pause. “I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since.”
The air between us thickened, the unspoken weight of all those nights pressing down.
I remembered the way the cobblestones had felt beneath my bare feet, the way his fingers had brushed against mine when he handed me the guitar, the way the crowd had blurred into nothing but noise and heat and the two of us in the center of it all. I remembered the way he’d looked at me afterward, his gaze dark and hungry, like he wanted to devour me right there in the middle of the square.
I swallowed.
“You were drunk,” I said, because it was easier than admitting the truth—that I remembered every second of it, that I’d replayed it in my mind a hundred times since.
David finally turned to face me, his eyes searching mine.
"I wasn't drunk enough to forget," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. The air between us crackled with tension, thick and electric. He took a step closer, his bare feet silent on the plush carpet, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. "I remember every damn thing."
I held my ground, refusing to step back. "You remember the part where you left with that blonde actress? The one who couldn't keep her hands off you?"
His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering in his cheek. "I remember the part where I *wanted* to leave with you."
The words hung between us, heavy and charged.
I could feel the weight of them pressing against my ribs, making it hard to breathe. David’s gaze never left mine, his blue eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe, or longing, or just the raw, unfiltered truth of a moment neither of us had ever let ourselves acknowledge.
I should have looked away. I should have laughed it off, made some joke about how drunk we both were, how the night had been a blur of bad decisions and worse choices. But I didn’t. Because the truth was, I remembered too.
I remembered the way his fingers had grazed my waist when he helped me down from the table, the way his breath had been warm against my ear when he whispered, *"You’re dangerous, Jill."* I remembered the way my skin had burned where he touched me, the way my pulse had hammered in my throat like a warning.
And I remembered the way he’d walked away.
---
The silence between us stretched, taut as a wire about to snap. David’s fingers flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for me. The rain outside had slowed to a whisper, the kind of sound that made the room feel smaller, more intimate.
The air between us was thick with the weight of things left unsaid, the kind of tension that hummed just beneath the surface, waiting for one of us to break.
David’s gaze dropped to my mouth, just for a second, before flicking back up to meet my eyes. His chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath, like he was trying to steady himself.
“You’re still doing that thing,” he said, his voice rough.
I raised an eyebrow. “What thing?”
“That thing where you look at me like you’re trying to figure out if I’m worth the trouble.”
A laugh escaped me, sharp and unexpected.
"I’m *always* figuring out if you’re worth the trouble."
That grin of his—the one that used to make my stomach drop—twitched at the corners. He stepped closer, close enough that I caught the scent of him again: whiskey and bergamot and something indefinably *David*.
My dress had ridden up when I sat down, and his thumb brushed the inside of my knee as he leaned in. Not a touch. Not yet. Just a tease. A promise.
"You always did know exactly what I was," he murmured, his voice wrapping around the words like smoke.
I tilted my head back to meet his gaze.
"And what's that?"
His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up my thigh, his touch feather-light, almost hesitant. "Someone who makes you forget all the reasons you should walk away."
The words hung between us, heavy with implication. I should have pulled back. Should have reminded him - reminded *myself* - of all the reasons this was a terrible idea. But the truth was, I didn't want to.
My breath hitched as his fingers found the hem of my dress, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. The contact sent a jolt through me, sharp and electric. I could feel my pulse quickening, my skin growing warm beneath his touch.
The heat of his palm radiated through the thin fabric, searing me with every slow inch he gained. I should have stopped him. Should have pushed him away. But the truth was, I'd spent years avoiding this—avoiding *him*—and the relief of finally giving in was too damn intoxicating to resist.
"You talk too much," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.
David exhaled sharply, his breath hot against my collarbone as his fingers curled around the back of my neck. A groan rumbled in his throat.
His fingers tightened in my hair, just enough to tilt my head back, exposing the line of my throat. His lips brushed against my pulse point—once, twice—before he spoke again, his voice a low growl.
"Then let me show you instead."
The words sent a shiver down my spine. I should have said no. Should have reminded him that this was a bad idea, that we were both too broken for this to end well. But the truth was, I didn’t want to say no. Not when his hands were on me, not when his breath was warm against my skin, not when the memory of his touch still burned in my veins like a brand.
I should have been stronger. I should have remembered all the reasons this was a mistake. But the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing keeping him from drowning—made my resolve crumble.
His thumb traced the line of my jaw, rough and calloused from years of playing guitar, of gripping scripts, of clenching into fists when the world got too loud. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but there was an edge to it, something desperate and raw. His fingers trembled slightly, just enough for me to notice.
"Jill," he whispered, my name a prayer on his lips.
The sound of it sent a shiver through me. I should have pushed him away.
Should have remembered the way his hands had felt on someone else’s skin, the way his promises had dissolved into smoke. But David Thewlis had always been my weakness—the man who could make me forget why I should be strong.
His mouth was hot and insistent against mine, the taste of whiskey and something darker, something like sin, flooding my senses. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, bruising, the kind of kiss that left no room for thought, only feeling.
My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan.
The sound vibrated against my lips, sending a jolt straight to my core. His hands slid down my back, gripping my waist like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go. The heat of his body pressed against mine, the hard planes of his chest flush with my softer curves.
The room spun, or maybe it was just the way he made me feel—lightheaded, untethered. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and I opened for him with a soft gasp. The kiss deepened, turning messy and hungry, our teeth clashing just enough to sting. His hands roamed lower, cupping my ass and lifting me effortlessly onto the edge of the bed.
The silk sheets were cool beneath my bare thighs compared to the heat radiating off him. David didn’t break the kiss as he stepped between my legs, his hips pressing against mine, his hard length already straining against his unzipped trousers.
The sound of rain pattered softly against the window, a quiet rhythm that matched the frantic beating of my heart. His fingers hooked into the thin straps of my dress, dragging them down my shoulders with agonizing slowness. The fabric pooled at my waist, leaving me exposed in nothing but a lacy black bra that suddenly felt too decorative for how desperately I needed him.
David’s breath hitched as his gaze raked over me, his blue eyes darkening with something that went beyond simple desire. It was hunger, yes, but also something more dangerous—possession.
“Christ, Jill,” he murmured, his voice rough as gravel. His hands slid up my ribcage, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the lace. The contact sent a jolt straight through me, my nipples hardening beneath his touch. “You’re trying to kill me.”
I arched into him instinctively, my body responding before my mind could catch up.
The rough pad of his thumb circled my nipple through the lace, teasing and tormenting until I gasped.
David groaned, low and guttural, before his mouth replaced his hand, his tongue tracing the curve of my breast over the fabric. The sensation was sharp, almost electric, and I fisted my hands in the sheets to keep from tangling them back in his hair. His teeth grazed my nipple through the lace, the bite of pain and pleasure making my back bow off the bed.
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. His hand slid down my stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties before dragging them down my thighs.
The cool air of the room kissed my bare skin where he’d just been, sending a shiver through me that he caught with his mouth, kissing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh—once, twice—before his breath hit the apex of my thighs in a slow, deliberate exhale.
I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, not to pull him away, but to keep him right there. The first swipe of his tongue was slow, torturous, tracing me with a precision that made my hips jerk off the bed.
A low, keening sound tore from my throat before I could stop it, my back arching off the mattress as he groaned against me, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure crashing through me.
I shouldn’t have liked it this much. I shouldn’t have loved the way his name sounded on my lips, the way my fingers clenched in his hair when he finally gave me what I needed—what *we* both needed. His hands held my thighs apart, keeping me open to him, keeping me exactly where he wanted me. No chance to close my legs, no chance to pretend this wasn’t what I’d been craving for years.
David’s tongue worked me in slow, deliberate circles, every sweep sending a fresh wave of heat through me, my skin too tight, my breath too short. His hands gripped my hips, holding me exactly where he wanted me—exactly where I needed to be.
“Fuck,” I gasped, the word torn from me as his mouth curled around me, sucking gently before he pulled back just enough to whisper against my skin, “You taste like trouble.”
I should have laughed. Should have remembered every reason this was a terrible idea. But the truth was, I hadn’t wanted anything this badly in years. Maybe ever.
The thought flickered through my mind like a warning, but it was drowned out by the sound of my own ragged breathing, by the way David’s mouth moved against me with a hunger that matched my own. His fingers dug into my hips, holding me steady as he worked me over, his tongue tracing patterns that made my toes curl into the sheets.
I could feel the tension coiling tighter inside me, a spring wound too tight, ready to snap. My fingers twisted in his hair, not to guide him—he didn’t need guiding—but to ground myself, to keep from flying apart completely. The pleasure built in slow, relentless waves, each one crashing over me harder than the last.
My back arched off the mattress, my body trembling on the edge of something I wasn’t sure I’d survive. David’s breath was hot against me, his tongue swirling in a rhythm that had me seeing stars. His fingers pressed into my skin, holding me open, keeping me right where he wanted me.
“That’s it,” he murmured against me, the words vibrating through my core. “Let go.”
I should have fought it. Should have remembered every reason this was a mistake, that we’d always ended up exactly like this—broken and breathless and full of regret.
But the way his mouth moved against me, the way his fingers dug into my skin like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go—it was too much. Too real. Too *him*.
My body betrayed me.
The orgasm hit me like a freight train, sharp and sudden and utterly devastating. I cried out, my voice raw and broken, my fingers clenching in his hair as my hips jerked against his mouth. David didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. He kept going, his tongue working me through every wave, every aftershock, until I was trembling beneath him, my skin slick with sweat, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The room spun, the world narrowing down to just this—the heat of his mouth, the rough grip of his hands, the way my body arched helplessly into his touch.
When he finally pulled back, his lips glistened, his eyes dark with something that went beyond satisfaction. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me all over again. Should have reminded him that this changed nothing—that we were still the same two people who’d hurt each other too many times to count. But the truth was, I didn’t want to.
David’s fingers trailed up my thigh, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of me.
The pads of his fingertips grazed the sensitive skin just above my knee, sending a shiver up my spine. He didn’t meet my eyes right away—just kept his gaze fixed on where his hand rested against my bare skin, like he was afraid if he looked up, the spell would break.
I should have pulled away. Should have reminded him that we weren’t the kind of people who did this—who *fell into this*—without consequences. But the way his breath hitched, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly beneath his unbuttoned shirt, told me he was just as undone as I was.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice rough.
His thumb traced a slow circle just above my knee, like he was trying to soothe me even as his touch set me on fire.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “So are you.”
David finally looked up, his blue eyes dark and stormy. His hand stilled against my skin, his fingers flexing slightly like he was fighting the urge to pull me closer.
“Jill,” he said, my name a low growl on his lips.
I should have told him to stop.
Should have reminded him that this was reckless, that we were reckless, that everything between us had always been a house of cards ready to collapse. Not when his touch still burned against my skin, not when the memory of his mouth on me was too fresh to ignore.
David watched me with those piercing blue eyes, his expression unreadable for a moment too long. Then his fingers tightened slightly on my thigh, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of my hip.
"You want me to stop?" His voice was rough, uneven, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.
I should have said yes.
I should have pushed his hand away, rolled off the bed, and put some distance between us before we did something we’d both regret. Not when his touch still sent electric sparks across my skin. Not when the weight of his gaze made my breath catch in my throat.
"Jill," he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. His hand slid higher, fingers brushing the curve of my hip, his thumb tracing the edge of my panties where they still clung to my thigh. "Tell me to stop."
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears.
David's thumb hovered just above the swell of my hip, his touch featherlight as if he were afraid to break the spell between us. The air in the room felt charged, every breath we took a shared secret.
"You’re shaking," he murmured again, his voice rough with something that bordered on wonder.
I could have laughed—at the timing, at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, this man who’d left so many broken things in his wake, looking at me like I was something precious he feared to crush. But the irony wasn’t lost on me. I was the one trembling.
"Not from cold," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
The admission felt like a confession, like I was handing him something fragile I couldn't take back.
His thumb stilled against my skin, his breath catching slightly. For a moment, he just looked at me, his blue eyes searching my face like he was trying to memorize every line, every shadow. Then, slowly, his hand slid up the curve of my waist, his fingers splaying against my ribs like he was learning the shape of me all over again.
"You always did have a way of making me forget my own name," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But I don't think I've ever seen you like this." He traced his fingers up my side, slow and deliberate, like he was committing every inch to memory. "This real."
The bed dipped slightly as he shifted closer, his knees pressing against the mattress on either side of my thighs. The heat of him radiated between us, the scent of his cologne wrapped around me in an invisible embrace. His free hand came up, cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip.
"You're trembling," he said again, quieter this time, like the words were for him as much as they were for me.
His thumb traced my lower lip, the rough pad of his finger catching on the sensitive skin. "I don't know if I've ever seen you like this." Should have reminded him that we weren't the kind of people who did this—who *felt* this—without consequences. But the way his hand cradled my face, the way his breath hitched when I leaned into his touch, made my resolve crumble.
His fingers slid into my hair, tangling in the copper strands as he tilted my head back. The movement was slow, deliberate, like he was giving me time to stop him. But I didn't. I couldn't.
Not when his breath was warm against my face, not when the rough pad of his thumb traced the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. Not when his other hand slid down my side, fingers curling around my hip with a possessiveness that made my stomach clench.
"You're going to break my heart again," I whispered, the words torn from me before I could stop them.
David’s breath hitched, his grip tightening infinitesimally before he exhaled a shuddering laugh that had nothing to do with amusement. "I know."
The confession hung between us, raw and unguarded. His forehead rested against mine, his eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t bear to look at me.
"God, Jill, do you think I *want* to be the man who does this to you?" His thumb pressed beneath my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I call you in the middle of the night because I don’t know who else to call. And then I just—" His voice cracked. "I just want to feel something real before the world starts spinning again."
The rain had stopped entirely now, leaving the city in a muffled hush. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm bleated once before fading into silence. David’s fingers trembled against my skin.
"I don’t want to wreck you," he said, voice raw.
"But I don’t know how to do this any other way."
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, a gesture so gentle it undid me completely. Should have remembered the way he’d left the last time—the way his promises had dissolved into smoke. But the truth was, I didn’t want to remember. Not tonight.
Not when his hand slid down my neck, fingers curling around my throat just enough to make my pulse jump beneath his touch. Not when his mouth hovered over mine, his breath warm and unsteady against my lips. He didn’t kiss me. Just waited, his gaze locked onto mine, searching for something I wasn’t sure I could give.
The air between us grew thick with anticipation, the kind that made my skin feel too tight, my breath too shallow. His fingers still rested against my throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind me he was there, that this was real.
The silence stretched, taut as a wire about to snap. Outside, the city hummed with distant life, but in here, it was just us, just the sound of our ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed beneath us. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along my jawline, the rough pad of his finger catching on the sensitive skin.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered again, his voice barely audible.
I should have.
Should have shoved him away, should have reminded him that we were a disaster waiting to happen—should have remembered all the nights I’d spent lying awake, replaying his mistakes in my head like some kind of masochistic highlight reel.
Not with his thumb brushing just below my ear, his fingers splayed against my throat with a possessiveness that sent my pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. Not when his gaze dropped to my mouth, his eyelids heavy with something dark and hungry.
Instead, I reached up and caught his wrist, guiding his hand higher until his palm cradled my jaw, his thumb resting against the corner of my mouth.
His breath hitched, his body stilling like a man who'd just been granted a reprieve he didn't deserve.
The air between us crackled with tension, the kind that made my skin feel too tight, my heart too loud. David's fingers flexed against my skin, his touch gentle but unyielding, like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go.
"You always did know how to make me forget my own name," he murmured, his voice rough with something that sounded like wonder.
His thumb traced the curve of my lower lip, the rough pad of his finger catching on the sensitive skin. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, my breath catching in my throat.
David’s fingers tightened infinitesimally around my wrist, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner arm. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t give me space to reconsider.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated straight through me.
I blinked, forcing my voice steady despite the way my pulse hammered beneath his touch. “What thing?”
“That thing where you look at me like you want to kiss me and run at the same time.” His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, his gaze locked onto my lips with an intensity that made my stomach twist. “I know that look.
I’ve seen it before,” David said softly. The pad of his thumb traced my bottom lip, the rough callouses catching on the sensitive skin. His breath hitched, warm against my mouth. “You used to get that look right before you’d take what you wanted.”
“And what if I want to take it now?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My fingers curled into the sleeve of his shirt, not to pull him closer but to anchor myself. To remind myself that this was real.
David’s breath shuddered out.
His thumb stilled against my mouth, his gaze locked onto the shape of my lips like he was memorising them all over again. And I watched him watch me, my pulse thumping in the hollow beneath his thumb, in the vein that ran down my throat, in the spot behind my ear where his other hand rested, fingers curled possessively into the crook of my neck.
“Jill,” he said again, my name like a benediction on his lips. “You always did have a way of turning a question into a dare.”
I swallowed. The rough pad of his thumb pressed lightly against my lower lip.
His blue eyes were dark, heated, locked on that small part of me where his touch branded me. There was no trace of hesitation in him now, no flicker of doubt. Only the slow, deliberate weight of a man who had spent a lifetime waiting for something he couldn’t name—until tonight.
"You’re playing with fire," he murmured, his voice rough with something like reverence.
I leaned in just enough that the heat of his breath ghosted over my lips. “Then burn with me.”
That last thread of resistance in him snapped.
His mouth crashed into mine, fierce and open, the kiss stripping away every guard I’d ever built.
David’s hands slid into my hair, fingers tangling in the copper strands as he pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine with a desperation that matched the hunger in his kiss. The bed creaked beneath us, the silk sheets cool against my bare back as he pushed me down, his weight settling between my thighs.
I gasped into his mouth, my fingers clawing at his shirt, yanking it free from his trousers. The fabric tore slightly at the shoulder seam, but neither of us cared.
David’s breath came in ragged bursts against my lips as I dragged my nails down his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his skin. The sound he made—half groan, half growl—vibrated through me, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling between my thighs.
His hands were everywhere at once: one gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up my ribcage to cup my breast through the lace of my bra. His thumb found my nipple, rolling it between his fingers until I arched into his touch with a sharp gasp. The sensation was electric, sharp enough to make my vision blur at the edges.
David’s mouth never left mine, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with my own as his fingers worked me over, rolling and pinching with a precision that made my back arch off the bed. The lace of my bra was little more than a whisper against my skin now, the fabric damp with sweat and the heat of his touch.
“You’re so fucking responsive,” he growled against my lips, his voice rough with something like awe. His thumb traced the outline of my nipple through the lace, the pad of his finger catching on the sensitive peak.
The sensation sent a jolt straight through me, my back arching off the bed as a gasp tore from my throat. David swallowed the sound, his mouth still fused to mine, his tongue sweeping in with a hunger that matched the desperate way his hands roamed over my body.
The bed creaked beneath us, the sound lost beneath the ragged rhythm of our breathing. His fingers slid down my stomach, tracing the curve of my waist before slipping beneath the waistband of my panties. The lace was already damp with sweat and something else, something that made his breath hitch when his fingers brushed against the slick heat between my thighs.
"Fuck," he groaned, his voice rough with something like reverence.
His fingers stilled against me, not pushing further but just *there*, like he was afraid to break the spell.
"You're soaked," David murmured, his fingers flexing against my skin. The roughness of his palm contrasted with the wetness between my thighs, sending another shiver through me. His thumb brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and I jerked beneath him with a sharp gasp.
David's mouth crashed back into mine, swallowing the sound as his fingers finally began to move—slow, deliberate circles that made my hips jerk up to meet him.
The lace of my panties was a flimsy barrier between us, the fabric already damp with need. His thumb pressed down just enough to make my breath catch, his fingers sliding lower, teasing the entrance to my body with a featherlight touch that made my toes curl.
"You're killing me," he groaned against my lips, his voice rough with something that went beyond desire. His fingers stilled for a heartbeat, his forehead pressing against mine as he exhaled sharply. "I should stop. I *know* I should stop."
But his fingers didn't stop. They slid deeper, pressing inside me with a slow, deliberate thrust that made my back arch off the bed.
David groaned against my lips, his hips grinding down against mine, his hard length straining against his trousers. The silk sheets beneath us crumpled into nothing as I lifted my knees, wrapping them around his waist to pull him closer.
“You feel so good,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. “God, David—”
His mouth swallowed the rest of my words as his fingers worked me faster, curling inside me just right, hitting that spot that made my vision whiten at the edges.
The lace of my bra was a barrier I couldn’t stand anymore, and I reached between us, fumbling with the clasp until it gave way. The fabric fell away, leaving me bare beneath him.
David’s breath hitched as his gaze dropped to my breasts, his fingers stilling inside me for just a moment. His thumb pressed down on my clit, slow and deliberate, as he watched my reaction.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with something that went beyond appreciation. His thumb circled again, his fingers curling inside me, and I gasped, my hips lifting off the bed.
The silk sheets beneath us were damp with sweat, clinging to my bare skin. David’s breath was hot against my collarbone as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down my throat, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin.
I arched into his touch, my fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. The muscles in his shoulders flexed beneath my palms as he settled between my thighs, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress. His free hand slid up my side, cupping my breast with a reverence that made my chest ache.
“You feel like heaven,” he murmured against my skin, his voice rough. His thumb pressed harder against me, his fingers working me with slow, deliberate precision.
The heat of his breath against my skin sent shivers down my spine, and I could feel myself unraveling beneath him. His mouth moved lower, tracing the curve of my collarbone before dipping to capture one nipple between his lips.
The sensation was electric, sharp enough to make me gasp. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, his teeth grazing just enough to send a jolt straight to my core. I arched into his touch, my fingers tightening in his hair as he lavished attention on one breast and then the other.
David groaned against my skin, the sound vibrating through me. His fingers never stopped, working me in slow, torturous circles that had me writhing beneath him. His own clothing became too restrictive and he quickly shed the rest, settling back between my legs.
The heat of his bare skin against mine sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through me. His cock pressed against my entrance, thick and hot and achingly hard.
"You sure about this?" he rasped, his voice raw with restraint. Air brushed my lips as he spoke, his breath unsteady.
I hooked my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "If you stop now, I'll kill you."
A dark chuckle vibrated through his chest as he braced himself against my shoulders, his forearm pressing down to hold me open. The head of him teased my entrance before slowly pushing inside, just an inch at first. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out with one deep thrust.
The stretch burned just enough to make me gasp, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. David stilled, his breath ragged against my ear, every inch of him trembling with restraint.
"Fuck," he whispered, his voice rough with something like pain. His forehead pressed against mine, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel—"
I cut him off with a sharp roll of my hips, taking him deeper. A guttural sound tore from his throat, his fingers digging into the mattress beside my head. The silk sheets were forgotten beneath us, twisted into knots as I arched into him, my body already adjusting to the delicious fullness of him inside me.
David’s breath came in ragged bursts against my collarbone, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes that pulled moans from places I didn’t know existed.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his voice rough with something dark and primal. His fingers sank into the flesh of my hips, pulling me flush against him, burying himself to the hilt. “Christ, Jill—”
His words dissolved into a groan as I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. The headboard knocked against the wall in a staccato rhythm that matched the frantic pounding of my heart.
David’s breath came in ragged bursts against my neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against my collarbone as he drove into me with a desperation that mirrored my own. The silk sheets had long since been abandoned, tangled around our ankles like forgotten promises.
“You’re going to make me come just like this,” I gasped, my nails digging crescents into his shoulders. The words tore from me before I could stop them, raw and unfiltered.
David groaned, his hips stuttering for just a second before he found his rhythm again. “That’s the idea,” he growled against my skin, his voice rough with something that went beyond simple desire.
His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of my shoulder, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure-pain through my core that made my back arch off the mattress.
The headboard continued its rhythmic protest against the wall, each sharp thud a counterpoint to the wet, slick sounds of our bodies meeting. David’s hands slid beneath me, gripping my waist to tilt my hips up, changing the angle just enough that his next thrust hit that perfect spot inside me that made my vision whiten at the edges.
“Oh God—” The words tore from my throat in a broken gasp as pleasure coiled tighter inside me, every nerve ending alight with sensation.
David’s name became a prayer on my lips, my fingers clawing at his back as his hips snapped against mine with relentless precision.
His breath was hot against my ear, his voice rough with the strain of holding back. “That’s it, love. Let go for me.” His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips, holding me exactly where he wanted me as he drove into me with deep, punishing strokes.
The silk sheets beneath us were long since ruined, twisted into knots that tangled around our legs. The scent of sex and bergamot cologne filled the air, thick and intoxicating. I could feel the tension building inside me, a spring wound too tight, ready to snap.
David’s body moved against mine with a rhythm that was both relentless and reverent, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered words that should have been forbidden.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, his voice rough with something that went beyond desire. His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips, pulling me closer with every thrust, as if he wanted to merge us into one being. “I’ve dreamed about this—about you—so many times.”
The confession tore through me like a blade, sharp and unexpected. I should have been angry. Should have reminded him that dreams didn’t excuse the way he’d left me before, the way he’d always left me.
But the truth was, his words wrapped around me like a spell, his voice rough with something that sounded suspiciously like vulnerability.
His hips rolled against mine in slow, deliberate circles, each movement drawing a gasp from my lips. The silk sheets beneath us were damp with sweat, clinging to my bare skin as David’s body moved over mine. His hands slid up my sides, fingers splaying across my ribs before cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples with a precision that made my back arch off the bed.
“You’re trembling again,” he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with something that bordered on wonder.
His fingers traced the curve of my waist, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of me all over again. The pad of his thumb brushed the sensitive skin just above my hip bone, sending a shiver down my spine.
I should have reminded him that mornings like this were never easy. That waking up tangled in David’s arms usually came with a price—some fresh bruise on my heart I had to nurse for weeks afterward. But the truth was, I didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Not when his breath was warm against my collarbone, not when his hand slid between my thighs with that familiar, possessive confidence.
Not when the world outside this hotel room had ceased to exist.
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